then, letting the wild wraiththrash itself down to nothing. The blood had been cool by the time he’d wiped it off, and when they returned, the Stranger’s body had melted beneath the ash of its final exhalation.
He stood ten steps closer to the water than Chief Eildan, knowing that the militia’s attention would be on the Chief when they got that close, not the people milling around him.
Vek passed and threw Kel a half smile. They had drunk with each other a few times in the Dog’s Eyes. As Kel drew the knife and stepped forward, he hoped that they would drink together again.
The woman who called herself Keera Kashoomie offered no resistance, and neither did the other four visitors. The woman’s swords remained in their sheaths. To the tune of mixed gasps and cries, Kel pushed Kashoomie aside, stepped behind her and clasped his arm around her throat. He held his knife ready to push between her ribs and into her heart. Then he backed toward the water, trying to make sure no one could circle around behind him.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” Eildan said calmly, and for a beat he was the only one to speak. Then voices rose in the crowd, a few apparently in support of what he was doing, and the militia emerged from behind their barricade and closed in, confused about which way to turn. Vek barked an order and several of them formed a barrier, cutting off Kel and the woman from everyone else. Vek himself came forward.
“Kel… now, we need caution, I agree. But they’ve done nothing yet that leads me to think—”
“Five beats, Vek,” Kel said. “Then we’ll see just how much our lives have changed.”
Keera Kashoomie shifted slightly beneath his grasp, and he felt her swallowing in fear.
“This knife,” he whispered, so only she could hear. “It has parted flesh like yours before. Let’s see if it smells another enemy.”
“Please, we’ve no choice in what we do. We’re here because—”
“Hush,” Kel said. He lifted the knife quickly to the woman’s neck, using its thin blade to pierce her collar and open it with a sharp upward slice. Her skin beneath was dark and bare, showing no sign of gills or any other marks.
“What are you doing?”
“Jacket off,” Kel said. “Make one move I don’t like and I’ll open your throat. Whatever you are, I’m quicker than you.”
The two women visitors each had a hand on her sword handle, but Kel saw the slight shake of Keera’s head that dissuaded them from drawing. If that happened, the militia might panic and attack. Confusion charged the air, and he could taste the tension.
Keera slipped the jacket from her shoulders and let it fall to the muddy ground. Beneath, she wore a wrinkled silk shirt, and Kel caught a waft of her body odor, earthy and somehow sensual …
“Don’t try to hex me,” he said.
“Hex?”
He pulled her back against him with his arm around her neck, slipped the knife behind her shirt collar and pulled down. It took several slices to open the shirt all the way to her belt. She was bare beneath, her skin covered with a fine sheen of sweat.
There were no protuberances beneath her shoulder blades. No scars, no marks, no openings in the skin. Nothing.
Kel sighed and stepped back, dropping the knife. He started to shake, realizing only then how coiled he’d been, how ready to blow. If he had found a Stranger’s proboscises, he’d have cut the woman’s throat, and the harbor would have become a bloodbath. His plan had been to step back and fall into the filthy water, but he’d have been lucky to escape with his life, and the boats keeping a respectful distance would have sailed in and disgorged their invading army.
At the same time as relief washed over him, confusion and suspicion settled within him, and would not let go.
“Welcome to Noreela,” he said. Keera Kashoomie glanced over her shoulder, and as Vek pushed past her and came for Kel, he was sure he saw the beginnings of a smile.
WHAT SORT OF fuckery was
He stood ten steps closer to the water than Chief Eildan, knowing that the militia’s attention would be on the Chief when they got that close, not the people milling around him.
Vek passed and threw Kel a half smile. They had drunk with each other a few times in the Dog’s Eyes. As Kel drew the knife and stepped forward, he hoped that they would drink together again.
The woman who called herself Keera Kashoomie offered no resistance, and neither did the other four visitors. The woman’s swords remained in their sheaths. To the tune of mixed gasps and cries, Kel pushed Kashoomie aside, stepped behind her and clasped his arm around her throat. He held his knife ready to push between her ribs and into her heart. Then he backed toward the water, trying to make sure no one could circle around behind him.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” Eildan said calmly, and for a beat he was the only one to speak. Then voices rose in the crowd, a few apparently in support of what he was doing, and the militia emerged from behind their barricade and closed in, confused about which way to turn. Vek barked an order and several of them formed a barrier, cutting off Kel and the woman from everyone else. Vek himself came forward.
“Kel… now, we need caution, I agree. But they’ve done nothing yet that leads me to think—”
“Five beats, Vek,” Kel said. “Then we’ll see just how much our lives have changed.”
Keera Kashoomie shifted slightly beneath his grasp, and he felt her swallowing in fear.
“This knife,” he whispered, so only she could hear. “It has parted flesh like yours before. Let’s see if it smells another enemy.”
“Please, we’ve no choice in what we do. We’re here because—”
“Hush,” Kel said. He lifted the knife quickly to the woman’s neck, using its thin blade to pierce her collar and open it with a sharp upward slice. Her skin beneath was dark and bare, showing no sign of gills or any other marks.
“What are you doing?”
“Jacket off,” Kel said. “Make one move I don’t like and I’ll open your throat. Whatever you are, I’m quicker than you.”
The two women visitors each had a hand on her sword handle, but Kel saw the slight shake of Keera’s head that dissuaded them from drawing. If that happened, the militia might panic and attack. Confusion charged the air, and he could taste the tension.
Keera slipped the jacket from her shoulders and let it fall to the muddy ground. Beneath, she wore a wrinkled silk shirt, and Kel caught a waft of her body odor, earthy and somehow sensual …
“Don’t try to hex me,” he said.
“Hex?”
He pulled her back against him with his arm around her neck, slipped the knife behind her shirt collar and pulled down. It took several slices to open the shirt all the way to her belt. She was bare beneath, her skin covered with a fine sheen of sweat.
There were no protuberances beneath her shoulder blades. No scars, no marks, no openings in the skin. Nothing.
Kel sighed and stepped back, dropping the knife. He started to shake, realizing only then how coiled he’d been, how ready to blow. If he had found a Stranger’s proboscises, he’d have cut the woman’s throat, and the harbor would have become a bloodbath. His plan had been to step back and fall into the filthy water, but he’d have been lucky to escape with his life, and the boats keeping a respectful distance would have sailed in and disgorged their invading army.
At the same time as relief washed over him, confusion and suspicion settled within him, and would not let go.
“Welcome to Noreela,” he said. Keera Kashoomie glanced over her shoulder, and as Vek pushed past her and came for Kel, he was sure he saw the beginnings of a smile.
WHAT SORT OF fuckery was
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